Keep me Underneath Your Thumb
by convexity
Summary: Eddard Stark takes back the North from Roose Bolton when he storms the Dreadfort. Robb Stark finds Lord Ramsay's pet, a relic of the thwarted Greyjoy rebellion, and takes him under his wing
1. Chapter 1

_This is really just something running around my head that I needed to get out. It's really indulgent- I realize. _

_Past mental/physical abuse mentioned, sexual abuse alluded to. Regular Ramsay stuff. _

Robb was hoping he had come to the last layer of the dungeons. He felt like he was in the seventh circle of hell, and itched for daylight and fresh air. These cells were certainly the foulest, and there was a faint stench growing stronger the farther down they went. When he brought the torch to the window of the stinking cell deep in the now Stark-controlled Dreadfort, he saw someone flinch away from the light, heard a chain rattle on the floor with the movement.

When he called out to the prisoner, there was no answer. He was with four of his fathers men, and they had been given the charge of scouting the dungeons to see how many prisoners were being held, what was the nature of their incarceration, et cetera. Robb had found several young girls in terrible conditions, in varying states of starvation and attire, who he had freed immediately. Some could walk with help, but most had to be carried by his fathers men out of the dungeons and into the main castle to be seen by a maester.

Another prisoner, this one a man grown, he had ordered taken off a cross that he was strapped to, pieces of his chest flayed off. Robb did not know his crime, but ordered him watched and tended to by the healer as well until he could find out more information. Flaying,long outlawed in the north, had been unofficially reinstated with the rise of house Bolton in the last ten years, and Robb knew his father would order that cross burned down, the flaying knives melted.

Whispers of the Bastard of Bolton's cruelty had not escaped him. He suspected the girls he found were being kept for sport, their crimes being non existant or extremely petty. But this boy, this boy couldn't be over fourteen. The dark was complete and the overwhelming gloom seemed to try to snuff out their torches.  
Again, Robb called into the cell.

"What is your name?"

This time, a small voice answered him.

"Reek. M-my name is Reek."

"Bring him to the maester." Robb said darkly, turning with an arm over his nose to guard against the stench.  
He had seen enough of the dungeons of the Dreadfort for one day.

Robb did not have time to think on the prisoners he had deemed necessary to be extracted from their inhumane cells until later that night, when his father dismissed him from his duties. Part of him wanted to sleep, but another part wanted to walk the grounds with Grey Wind. He would find no sleep yet, tired as he was.  
"My Lord?"  
The maester who had served the Boltons was now tending to the prisoners under Stark command. They had imprisoned most everyone else until they could properly decide what to do with them individually, but maesters were in short supply and this one had been forthcoming with aid and information since they took the castle. He was dwarfed by his bearskin pelt, and his red hair was so dull and dirty it blended with the fur amopst completely.

"If I could have a word?"

Robb turned his path away from both the grounds and his direwolf and his bed, and walked alongside the round-shouldered maester. He saw that his fingernails were stained with blood and he looked world-weary, like his close set eyes had seen too much to belong to one mortal old man.

"The boy you brought up from the dungeons..."

Robb thought back through the prisoners he had extracted earlier that day.

"The one who told me his name was Reek?"

The maester nodded, and said haltingly- "He.. has been called that for some time. But you might know who he was before all that Reek business... You were just a boy when the Greyjoy's rebelled, but you recall."

"Of course. Lord Roose Bolton ended that rebellion, before my seventh nameday. What of it?"

Robb wondered where this could be going.

"That boy is Balon Greyjoy's last son. Theon. Roose brought him back as a...ward... to ensure the Greyjoy's compliance to their terms."  
Robb took a moment to process the starved, cringing, filthy creature he had glimpsed in the cell as the last living son of Balon Greyjoy.

"Theon.. Greyjoy. What were his crimes? What had he done?"

The maester stopped as they approached a heavy wooden door, shifted his weight and averted his eyes uncomfortably.

"Nothing, My Lord. Lord Ramsay has a bit of a... a foul mean streak. It amused him to make his ward into a sort of pet. Fashioned after a servant called Reek that he had when he was a boy."

"I'd like to see him, if he's awake."

"I imagine he is. He's... well he's refusing to bathe or remove any of the rags he is wearing...He also is refusing assessment of his wounds."  
Robb raised his eyebrows and the old man lowered his voice.

"He seems to think that it is a trick of Ramsay's. A trap."

Robb raised his eyebrows further, looked to the door.

"Thank you for the insight, maester Pybald."

The man nodded quickly, bowed as he backed away. Robb took a deep breath and opened the door.  
Pybald had put Reek-no, Theon Greyjoy in a small room, seemingly empty and bereft of furniture or decoration like so many strange rooms in this cold castle seemed to be. There was a small window that showed only the blackness of the sky outside, and a crudely made wooden bench beneath it. The boy called Reek was sitting in the far corner, but in spite of the fact that it was the darkest one or because of it Robb was not sure.

He saw the ward flinch when the door shut, interrupting his back and forth rocking movement.

"Theon?" Robb called out softly, feeling large and loud and frightening just by the armor he wore and the way the boy was reacting to him with such fear. He was so thin, and fresh bruises bloomed black over yellowing old ones. Robb could smell his foul rags from across the room, and his hair was so dirty its color was not clearly determinable.

"Theon Greyjoy?"

At that the boy shook his head no and furrowed his brow while staring at the floor. It was like he was not answering Robb, but denying to himself that recognized the words he had just heard. Robb stepped closer, kneeled next to Theon, who went rigid.  
"Is that your name?" He asked softly, trying to peer into the downcast eyes of the Bolton's prisoner. Theon's breath hitched when Robb hooked two fingers under his chin, tilted his head up to look at him.

A whisper. "My name is Reek."  
Robb nodded.

"As you say. Reek, my name is Robb. My father Eddard Stark has taken this castle. He is the rightful warden of the North, as he was before. Roose Bolton does not command this castle, any men, armies, or anything now. Nor does Ramsay."

Reek flinched at the mention of the bastard. He broke eye contact with Robb, glanced away.

"Do you understand?"  
"Y-yes. I saw the wolves on their breast. The men who took me out of there. The wolves...They said the wolves would come one day." He trailed off, staring at the direwolf sigil on Robb's own leather.

"Do you know who kept you prisoner?"

He looked confused.

"Lord Ramsay... Lord Ramsay is m-my master."

Robb nodded, continued to speak softly.

"Not anymore. You aren't his prisoner anymore. I'm letting you go."

"Go?" He looked at Robb again, panic and confusion overcoming his face. The boy's eyes filled up with tears.  
"Where will.. I have nowhere to go... I.. My name is Reek. Lord Ramsay is my master.. He tells me where to go. What to, what to do, I... My name is Reek, it rhymes with freak."

Tears spilled from his eyes. His face was so dirty they made obvious lines through the grime on his cheeks. Robb felt a little queasy. This young man was an ironborn, a Greyjoy. How many years had he been a slave, a pet and perversion of Ramsay Bolton? What had they done to him?

"Reek." He began, realizing the name Theon just upset the boy. "You don't have to go anywhere. I meant... what I meant was I am letting you go, as in... you're not a prisoner anymore... This is not a trick."

He stared at the floor in silence.  
"Who is m-my master now?" His voice was shy.

"You don't have a.. a master. Not in the sense that Ramsay Bolton wanted you to have a master."  
Reek glanced at Robb fearfully, dropped his gaze again. Robb could see this had upset him somehow.

"The maester said you would not bathe."  
Reek didn't know how to respond.

"I insist that you do. You also have wounds that must be looked after?"  
He shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't need- I shouldn't. I can't."

"Someone else will do it for you."

"No, I mean." He was growing more upset.

"My name is Reek. It rymes with sneak. I... I am a good...a good bitch though. I wouldn't go behind master's back and.. and do something I shouldn't. Not anymore. I know."

He held out his hands for his own inspection, as if to remind himself. Robbs stomach lurched when he saw the state of the boy's hands. He was missing several fingers entirely, and one had clearly been partially flayed but not removed, and the new skin was thin and sickly. Both the boys hands were shaking violently, and finger-print bruises freckled his forearms and wrists.

"He did this to you?"

Robb got no response other than an incredulous look from sunken , bruise-rimmed eyes.

"Come."

Robb ignored how the boy stiffened when he was pulled gently to his feet. To Robb's surprise thoough, he swayed and would have fallen if he had not caught him.

"You can't stand?"  
A terrified Reek shook his head.

"I'm so sorry- I didn't... I can try.. my legs... the dungeon. I'm so sorry-"

"Of course. That was stupid, I saw the way you were chained. Your legs won't be of much use for a while yet. Can you walk a little, or should I carry you?"

"I can.. I can walk a little."

Robb half-carried, half-supported the boy into the next room, where the tub of water the maester had tried to coax Reek into had been sitting, washing filthy prisoners all day and being emptied and scrubbed. The water Pybald had gotten for Reek was old now, and Robb dipped a hand in to test it. Lukewarm. He set Reek gently down on a chair and went to the door, called for a maid and asked for a hot tub of water to be prepared.

As the maids scurried in and out with pails of hot water boiled in the kitchen, they side-eyed both Robb and Reek, curious and trying to hide it.  
"Girl?"  
The maid straightened up, turned to face him for instruction.

"Bring some clothes that would fit him."

She nodded and hurried off.  
When the water was full and hot enough again, and the girl had brought him clean clothing for Reek, Robb latched the door.

"Come on. Take off those rags."  
Reek hesitated.

"Ramsay can't hurt you anymore." Robb whispered in a confidential tone.

"My name is Reek..."  
He stared miserably at the tub full of water.

Robb stepped closer to the boy, slowly, painfully aware of how stiff he went, as if bracing himself for a blow. He knelt in front of him.

"You can take them off now. It's over. The hot water will feel good. Let me help you."  
Reek looked at him, unsure.

"Are you my master now?

Robb didn't know how to answer. Reek did what his master told him. That was how he had survived thus far, it was all he knew. He was conditioned to it, broken and molded into a pet that knew only loyalty, a kicked dog that aimed to please. Robb wondered what his father would say to this boy.

Lord Eddard might calmly explain that he had no master now, as Robb had tried, but that wasn't doing much good. Reek was panicked without direction to follow. Theon Greyjoy might not have, but this was not Theon Greyjoy, not entirely. Robb thought he might understand what the boy needed, and it made him flush with shame to think he was considering taking this route. No one need know, though, and he was doing it for the benefit of the bo ywho said his name rhymed with freak.  
Robb decided he could fix this later.

"Yes."  
The boys eyes snapped up, looking at him widely.

"I'm your master now. I'm going to look after you. Now take off those rags and let me get you into the water."

It took a considerable amount of gentle scrubbing for Reek to get himself clean, and Robb couldn't help himself. He took the task of unmatting and cleaning Reek's hair upon himself, since the boy was tentatively letting him. He looked questioning, at first, but one accustomed to the whims and moods of Ramsay Bolton is not surprised by many things, least of all a Lord helping him in the bath.

Robb almost called in a serving girl or two for help, but figured they certainly did not need a crowd in the room. Reek seemed compliant, reserved, with the halfhearted modesty of one who has not been allowed any perrsonal boundaries or autonomy for a long time. Robb tried to work quickly before the water became cold, but there was so much filth. It was in layers, caked into the lines on his remaning fingers and behind his ears, smeared across his skin like a brand.

Reek favored his one still-wounded hand, shielding it close to him like he was afraid Robb was going to take it and scrub the tender skin on his healing finger. He didn't touch Reek's hands, but let him wash them himself.  
When it was done, Robb knew of far too many cuts and bruises and bones on the boy's frail body, and thought he saw black and blue marks behind his eyelids when he shut them. Reek struggled into his clothes, which were a little big, but only because he was too skinny for his frame, and his muscle mass was starved off him too.

"Come now, Reek." Robb used his soft, authoritative voice that seemed to generate an immediately response from him.

He was going to take him to his room with him. He didn't know why, he just knew that this boy wasn't leaving his sight until he understood a few things. Robb still had to steady Reek on his arm, but he was walking better now, the heat and movement restoring the mobility in his weakned legs. He stumbled once and apologized so profusely Robb had to shush him to pull him along again to get him to forget about it.  
When they entered the room Robb was staying in, Reek grew afraid again. Robb pretended not to notice, took off his boots and his outer clothes, the armor and everything that was restrictive and bulky. His feet and shoulders ached, and he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and forget everything until dawn.

When he turned, Reek was unlacing the shirt they had just gotten him into.

"What are you doing?" Robb asked.

"I... Better to... to serve you, master." Reek blushed, then looked away like he had done something wrong.

"Serve me?" Robb approached Reek gingerly.

"Y-yes. Is that not why I am in your private chambers?"

Gods. Robb realized what Reek meant. Was there anything that the Bastard hadn't done to Theon?

"No." He said stupidly.

"I'm sorry..." Reek began to stammer.  
"I"ve done something wro- I don't."

Robb put both hands on the boy's trembling shoulders.

"You did nothing wrong, little one."  
He turned Reek's chin up to face him.

"I do not wish to.. To hurt you, in any way. I'm not the same as... Your old master and I do things differently. I don't wish for you to serve me in that way. I want you to understand.. it's very important that you understand that I will not hurt you or punish you for something you think you've done wrong."

Reek was listening intently, his lower lip began to tremble.

"What will you punish me for, master?"

"You misunderstand. I do not wish to punish you at all."

"What if I'm bad?"

"And are you going to be bad?" Robb asked, arching an eyebrow. He highly doubted they had the same ideas about what constituted as misbehavior.

"Oh no, master. No I... I never mean to be bad... But I'm bad anyway. I always do something wrong. Master was kind, he... he showed me. He took my fingers so I could learn."  
Robb wrinkled his nose.

"You do not need to pretend that your torture was a lesson in the Bastard's kindness. Not to me. If I want you to do something, or not to do something, I will tell you directly. I will be very clear with you. "

Robb couldn't believe he was saying these words, but his plan seemed to be working thus far. It had gotten the boy in the bath, anyway, and out of those rags. If he needed a master, Robb was going to be a kind one. And not in the way Ramsay Bolton considered himself kind, either. If he could ever unearth Theon Greyjoy, the boy he might have been, a boy with a title and the heir to the iron islands, he would tell him he was sorry he called himself his "master". But now, Reek needed one.

"You follow my instruction and you will not ever be punished. Also, you will never, for any reason, lose another finger or skin or be harmed in any of these ways again." Robb said softly, gently reaching up to trace a bruise on the boy's cheekbone. With food and some sunlight and less bruises, he would have been handsome.

Reek blinked, parted his lips slightly at the touch. Robb took that encouragingly, ran the backs of his fingers down the boys cheek and along his jaw.

"Do you understand?"  
"Y-yes master." Reek managed.

"Now, you will sleep on that side of the bed, the one closest to the hearth. I will give you your own furs to stay warm, and keep the fire going through the night. I imagine it's very cold, being as thin as you are."

Reek's eyes went wide.

"Master I... I belong on the floor at least, if not out with the dogs. I can.. I can take the cold. I'm supposed to. I know my place, master, I do. I know it." He was shaking his head. Robb sighed.

"Reek..." He said gently, reisting the urge to call him Theon. "Who made you sleep on the floor and out with the dogs?"

"Maste-... Lord Ramsay let me."

"Who is your master now?"

Reek thought for a moment, tried to sniff out a trap and couldn't find one.

"You are, master. You are."

"What did I just explain to you? What did I ask of you?"  
Robb began to do the fingers-on the cheek thing again, it seemed to calm him.  
Reek leaned into the touch and his eyelids fluttered.

"You said that if I do what you tell me I will be.. I will be right."

"And now I'm telling you that I want you to never question me, even if I ask you to do something a Bolton would not have had you do. Their rules for you no longer apply. Only mine do. Those are you rules now."

"Yes." Reek agreed, and Robb scratched gently under his chin with his forefinger. Reek's eyes closed, lashes dusting his bruised cheeks. He exhaled shakily. Robb let his other hand come up to the other side of his wards face, letting his gentle rubbing and scratching to to the soft underneaths of Reek's scrubbed- clean earlobes. Ramsay's pet extended his neck out slightly, granting Robb access to behind his ears, starting to work into his hairline. He let out a soft little moan, and then, as if realizing, his eyes snapped back open and he gasped.

"I- I didn't-"

"Shh, little one." Robb soothed, liking the sound of endearments better than 'Reek'.

"I see you can still enjoy touch."

Reek blushed, the blood blotchy and red under his pale skin.

Robb smiled. "That's good. You know, there can be touch without pain. I'm glad you can still enjoy it." Robb made a mental note that platonic, soft touching was a calming point for the easily-panicked Reek.

"Now, get in that side of the bed and tell me if you feel warm enough with those furs while I stoke the fire."  
Reek looked about to hesitate, then caught Robb's eye and nodded, turned and did as he was told .

"Good boy." Robb heard himself say, and was glad for the thickness of the walls of the Dreadfort and the privacy they leant him. He did not want anyone to learn of the details of this cherade that had started to take place between he and the Greyjoy ward.  
For all anyone but Pybald knew, he was just a Ramsay casualty, a dungeon starveling that slept with the dogs and begged his master for scraps and was flayed and beaten as punishment.

Who even knew and remembered there was a boy named Theon Gryejoy? Surely such mistreatment of a boy of noble blood would have gotten around the North, and most surely back to Pyke, and yet Robb himself had heard nothing of the sort. He wondered if he could ask his father what he had heard had become of the Greyjoy ward.

He also realized, as he prodded and coaxed the flames higher in the hearth, that the ward from the iron islands would be his age at least, if not older, unless he'd been severely mistaken in his facts. This whole time he had regarded the boy as several years younger than himself... thirteen, maybe fourteen. But that would not be right. He would be sixteen now as well, like himself. Was it possible he only looked younger because he was so malnourished? Robb supposed that though he was thin and held himself all wrong, he was almost as tall as Robb if he stood straight.

"Reek?" He asked, turning to the angular, pale creature who was buried by furs in the massive bed.

"How many harvests will you have had on your next nameday?"

This question appeared to trouble him, and his brows knit together.

"I.. I do not know, master. I'm sorry, I-"

"It's alright, it's alright." Robb said, replacing the fire poker and stopping by the bedside to run a hand through Reek's hair. It was brittle and dull and had all that grey, but it was clean now.

"It's alright if you don't know the answer to a question. I might be asking a lot in the future, but if you don't know the answer, just say so. I won't be upset."  
Reek nodded, tried to smile and then seemed to think better of it, one of those odd, learned reflexes that seemed to dictate everything he did.  
Presently, he heard Theon's stomach rumble. Even through the furs he could hear the empty, angry churning.

"Oh, Gods, I've not even fed you. Did they feed you when they took you out?"  
Reek looked mortified, but shook his head no.  
"Seven Hells you probably haven't eaten in ages and I'm rambling on about namedays. Sit up, don't fall asleep just yet. I'm going to go get us some food."

"Master I don't need-"

"Stop that, you're starving. Gods I am just.. it's been a long day, forgive me. Stay put."

Robb threw his cloak around his shoulders to wander the dark castle. He came upon several guards, who stood erect and nodded at his passing, and lit a spare torch from one of them. He wound his way down into the kitchens, which were dark except for his torchlight.  
He grimaced as mice scurried for the corners on his approach. The dreadfort kitchens were expansive but simple, with strings of garlic and wreathes of herbs hung from the ceiling, cast iron pots still on the oven, embers all but dead in it's massive belly.  
Robb peeked under a cheesecloth and found a bit of still-soft bread, half a pork sausage, and a jar full of something that smelled of a sweet jam that he stole a scoop from and generously globbed on the side of the plate. He balanced this and a tall mug of fresh water in one hand and used the torch to light his way back with the other.

If anyone had caught him, he would say he had not eaten his dinner, and couldn't sleep for his hunger. If he had sent a maid, at least one person would know he had company, and he didn't want any questions regarding Theon Greyjoy just yet.  
In the back of his mind he knew he should just stop making it his personal problem, that his Lord father would surely like to be in the know about the situation regardning a noble ward. There is time for that, he told himself, and let his strange but clear urges to care for Theon- for Reek, take the lead.

Reek was sitting in the huge bed, just where Robb had told him, when he returned. He struggled inside and closed the door with his booted foot, mounted the torch, and kicked off his boots again.  
He climbed into the bed with the plate of food, set it in Reek's lap.

Reek's eyes went wide and he licked his lips like his mouth was watering. He looked to Robb, and back to the food. Robb gave him an encouraging nod. He watched as Reek dabbed the bread in the jam, brought it to his mouth, chewing carefully and eagerly all at once, and closing his eyes in reverence. He looked like he might cry. He was hungry, truly hungry, but he behaved as if his mouth hurt him, like he tried to chew all on onde side and in the back of his mouth. His tongue darted out to lap at a smear of purple jelly on his lip, and Robb smiled. It was doing something strange to him, swelling his chest with an odd feeling, seeing the pleasure spread over the boy's face at how good the simple food tasted. He ate it all, licked his fingers, put the back of his hand to his mouth like he couldn't believe what just happened, how much he had just gotten to eat.

"Here." Robb offered him the water, and he drank, spilling a little out of the corner of his mouth due to his shaky hands.

Robb took the cup and empty plate back and set on the floor next to the bed, leaning way down to do so. The Boltons may have been sparse about it, but what furnishings they did have were large and elegant.

"Is that better?" Robb asked, and Reek nodded gratefully, placing a hand on his stomach, which, even with that small amount of food, looked slightly distended.

"Now you will sleep better. Lay back."

Reek did, nestling in between furs and a large cloth pillow stuffed with down.  
Robb knew he should just scoot back over to his side, but he didn't want to move. He let his hand wander to the boy's hairline, pushing it back out of his eyes, and soon found himself carding his fingers through Reek's hair. He felt that warm swell in his gut again when Reek's eyelids drooped, when the look of fear and the cautious stance left him for peace and relaxation.  
Robb found himself murmuring.

"Good. I'll take good care of you. You'll see. Close your eyes. That's it."

Reek fell asleep under his new master's gentle administrations, and Robb soon followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Reek spent the next three days under Robb's wing. He did not want to stray far from Robb's room, and did not understand the lack of punishment he received, nor did he understand the three meals per day he was provided. He utilized none of the liberties he was given, and showed no interest in his free reign of the castle. He seemed to want to stay as invisible as possible. He was quiet, watchful, quick to obey and reluctant to do anything he was not directly ordered to do.

Robb did his best to give him the instruction that he craved, and made sure he was careful with what he said. Anything could be misconstrued, he soon discovered.  
"Don't let anyone in" meant the food Robb ordered to be delivered did not reach him, as he would not answer the serving girl's softly rapping at the door. Robb found him hungry that night, though he said nothing until Robb asked if he had enjoyed the berry tar that had been the kitchen's specialty that day.

"You didn't receive your meals?"

"You said not to let anyone in, master."

Robb had mentally kicked himself for that, and ordered a large meal brought right away. Reek devoured the food ravenously and Robb called for extra berry tart with sugar glaze for good measure to make up for his blunder.  
He let him sleep in his bed at night, played his new "master", and had unsuccessfully asked him about his time before he came to the Dreadfort, which resulted in Reek's extreme distress and confusion, and Robb's profuse apologies.

"Forget it, forget I asked it. Shh, you don't have to remember. Hush now, I've got you.." Robb has soothed, using all the techniques he found comforted Ramsay's pet.

"Freak. Weak. Shriek. Sneak... " Reek had muttered under his breath, a mantra, until Robb could bring him back to him, make him look in his eyes.  
He stroked his hair, held him to his chest and murmured in his ear.

"Look at me little one. That's it. Hey."  
"I know my name." Reek's voice cracked.  
"I know you do. It's alright. You're doing well."

He could see Reek thinking about this for a moment, blinking tears out of his eyes. Robb stroked them from his cheeks with his thumbs.

"But..I didn't answer... I didn't answer what you asked."

"That's alright. Remember when I told you I would ask questions?"  
A nod.  
"And that it was alright if you couldn't answer them?  
Another nod.  
"That was one of those times. It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong."  
He felt Reek's shoulders sag in relief. From what Robb had gathered, Ramsay liked to ask Reek a lot of impossible questions, and play a lot of dead-end games at his pets expense. It made it hard to sift through the muck of Reek's tortured mind and convince him of his sincerity, his good intentions. Each time Robb displayed his kindness, however, he thought maybe he could feel the veil thinning. He thought he might glimpse another person behind those eyes, someone who didn't rhyme with meek.

He made the mistake of telling Reek that Ramsay lived the third night of the Stark occupation of the Dreadfort. He had been reading out of an ugly leather bound book. It had roughly cut parchment paper stacked inside the strange binding, all tied together with pale strips of leather.

"What is that?" Reek asked timidly from his corner of Robb's bed, where he tried to make himself as small as possible by pulling his knees to his chest. Robb startled. He had nearly forgotten he was there. Reek would sit like that in silence, sometimes for an entire hour, sometimes two without moving a muscle.

"I'm not sure." He replied, casting a gentle smile at Reek, to encourage him for having spoken without being spoken to, such a rare occurrence.

"It's a bit odd." He confessed, flipping another page. He omitted that he had found it when he had gone through Ramsay Bolton's personal chambers earlier that day. He didn't find much of interest, excepting a few different styles of small flaying knives and what looked to be some kind of animal foot on a string. That and the book. He had taken that with him.

"It's got some writing, the script is with a terrible hand though." That gave him pause.

"Reek, do you know your letters?"

"I.. I think so. I used to. I can still understand most things I see. I just haven't.. .been near any books in so long, I..." he trailed off.

"We'll get you some books on the morrow to look at. Would you like that?"

Reek nodded, gave his customary crooked grin that flashed briefly and hid itself again like a minnow in the sunlight.  
Robb thumbed through more pages. Drawings, less crude than the writing. What looked like dogs, the hunting hounds most likely. Ramsay had loved the hunt, it was well known.  
_Though he prefers two legged prey_.

The dogs had labels etched beside their barking or snarling heads. Names. The next two pages were all ink-drawn pictures of women, in varying stages of distress. Some were running, some were on the ground, their skirts pushed around their waist revealing tediously drawn privates. The artist had given most attention to detail to these parts, where the sketches got more hurried and careless around the eyes, the hair, the feet. Some of the girls were torn apart and the artist had depicted their wide screams alongside raw limbs with fragments of bone peeking through.

Robb must not have masked his disgust because Reek peeked over his shoulder. Quickly, he turned the page, hoping for more disjointed writing, but when he did something fell onto his lap. He picked it up with two fingers, thinking at first a leaf of the book had come loose. Before he registered what he was holding up, Reek whimpered and slammed himself back against the great carved headboard, backpedaling away from Robb and the thing he held aloft. When it registered in his head that he was not looking at a piece of yellow parchment but instead a thick and withered scrap of skin, his stomach lurched. He saw the darker pigmentation of the areola, then the once-pink center of a nipple, hardened and dried like a pressed leaf. He threw it without thinking, where it landed with an obscene plop on the stone floor.

"Gods." He closed the book, wondering through his hammering heart at the origin of the books strange leather cover, threw that on the floor too.

He turned to look at Reek, whose knowing, near-tearful face flickered in the light of the roaring hearth.

"I.. I didn't think... Gods." Robb said, his fingertips tingling where he had touched the flayed skin of some poor girl's breast. He felt unclean.

"He keeps things, sometimes. He.. he likes to..." Reek trailed off, shaking his head and letting the tears fall.

"He made me b-beg him to cut them off." He said, holding his shaking hands out in front of him, eyeing the gaps between his missing fingers.

"It w-was like a game we played. He wouldn't ... he wouldn't cut it off till I begged him. Once, for trying to bite one off myself, h... he took a toe and made me wait a..a week."

Robb closed the distance between them, a little too fast, which made Reek stiffen at first, but he crumpled against Robb's chest when Robb wrapped his arms around him, as if trying to engulf him, shield him entirely with his own body where they sat on the bed midst the furs.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"Is he... is he dead?" Reek whispered thickly, tears drying on Robb's thin tunic where he kept his face pressed. He sounded afraid, afraid to know the answer, afraid to hope aloud for something so traitorous.

He hesitated.  
"He will be."

Reek twitched lightly, moved a shoulder in between them to look up at his new master.

"Where is he?" The whisper had an undertow of fear so deep that Robb felt the hair on his neck stand up. To Reek, Ramsay had been omniscient, the thing that controlled his world, his personal circle of hell. He did not trust that he had no power now.

Robb felt sympathy ebb and a prideful sort of irritation swell in him. Reek didn't think he could keep Ramsay at bay. He did not know the Starks of Winterfell. Just because Robb had been nothing but gentle and kind to him did not mean that was all he was capable of.

"Do you not trust me?" He asked, immediately regretting the manipulative tone that he could hear echoing back to his ears.

Reek opened his mouth, closed it, searching Robb's eyes and then looking away.

Easy, Robb told himself. You can't play games with him. He's damaged, severely damaged.

"I'm sorry." Robb grumbled, pulling farther away from Reek and running a hand through his hair. He was tired.

"I only meant that.. I am capable of keeping you safe. And I will."

"Yes." Reek said, meeting his gaze of his own violition.

Robb raised his brows. "Sorry?"

"Yes. I.. I trust you, master."

It took a moment to sink in, the heavy implication of those words, but Robb recovered himself.

"Robb."  
Reek questioned him with a look.

"Call me Robb. Please. Just try it."

Reek blushed, a healthy flush on his less-hollow looking cheekbones. Hydration, sleep, and honeyed bread and stew were aiding this nicely, and his bruises were less angry.

"Go on. Say it again."

"I trust you... Robb."

Robb felt his smile, wider than it had any right to be, felt the gush of air that was almost a laugh come from his lips unbidden. The corners of Reek's mouth twitched upward.

"Good. Good."

Reek blushed harder at the praise, let our a breath of relief himself.  
Robb touched the other boy's wrist, and somehow it felt more electric and intimate than when he had held him minutes before.

"I promise you won't regret that."

* * *

Robb's lord father had settled most of the matters that needed settling, and the Dreadfort was going to be their under their command remotely. They could go back to Winterfell before the moon turned. That still left the more pressing matters open to the elements.

Roose and Ramsay Bolton were currently locked in two of their own cells beneath the castle, and this irritated Robb to no end. In the old days,( he mused from what he knew of the old days) they would have marched both the Leech Lord and his bastard into the light of day and in front of the Old Gods and all their northmen have had their heads and that would have been that.

The reality of it, he learned, not as simple as all that, and the whims of King Robert at King's Landing were tipping the scales. What could possibly be gained from keeping them alive? Their allies scattered and submitted when the Dreadfort was taken. Robb wondered if he had a stomach for politics at all.  
Justice he understood. He could understand it in his heart, by a feeling in his gut. He knew what to do. The troubling bit seemed to be the intricate delicacies of Lordship. He watched his father maneuver through, smoothly as an old raft down a winding stream. Robb splashed and spluttered, fighting the current.

As another day passed, it became clear that the execution of Lord Roose Bolton was imminent. Robb had asked again, impatiently, what was taking so long, and his father's broad shoulders had shrugged calmly.

"Patience. I will not do anything without the direct consent from King's Landing. This is not a wildling thief, nor some a Night's Watch deserter. While all men's lives have worth, what we do here will have far-reached repercussions. He is the former warden of the north."

"Who stole that title and has since oppressed everyone between Karhold and Deepwood Motte." Robb reached down to rub between Grey Wind's massive ears, more to calm himself than anything.

"Which is why we cannot act without consent of the Iron Throne if I am to be the warden in the north for true, by actual decree under the seven kingdoms. But Roose Bolton has been the thorn in the kingdoms side for ten years, and he will keep another day or so."

The granite edge to his father's steady reasoning made him feel a child again, told that he couldn't sample the cook's lemoncakes before the stew. Grey Wind shifted, began to pant lowly in the warm light of the three braziers near the table.

"Maester Pybald asked after Theon Greyjoy's health." Eddard Stark said coolly.

Robb's pulse hammered in his ears. He thought of a hundred things to say, each more stupid than the last. His father spoke again.

"I don't know what you are doing, but those are the kind of secrets that have cost men kingdoms."

"I was going to tell you-"

"When? The entire North and the Iron Islands as well thought Balon Greyjoy's last living son had died of pox ffve years ago. Now I find out that he did not, that he lives, which could turn out to be very important. And you've been hiding him from me. Why?" Neds voice remained calm and even, as always, but Robb thought he could hear the conflict in his tone.

"Father, it's not what it looks like."

He began to realize what it looked like. It looked like a strategic move on his part. A hidden weapon. The thought of ever doing anything against his fathers best intentions numbed him, he couldn't fathom it. He hoped Eddard knew that. Didn't he?

"Then what is it?" The elder Stark asked patiently.

"You sent me down the dungeons that first day. I took a man off the cross and let those girls out. There was another I freed." He didn't want to do this... he wanted to keep Theon a secret, his secret. Part of him was angry at his father for having discovered it so soon, and another part of him was ashamed for keeping such a secret, for such intimate personal reasons.

"I didn't know who he was. He was... starved. Dirty. Gods, so dirty. I handed him over to the men, to Pybald. Only later I discovered he was Balon Greyjoy's son. But when I went to him, he... He doesn't even know it himself, father. Ramsay Bolton has disfigured him not only bolidly but mentally too, its.. he thinks his name is Reek. He was so afraid and I..."

Ned seemed to be processing this new information, and as Robb stammered on, his brows knit and he nodded quietly. Rather than look at his father, Robb fixed his gaze on the mist-blue direwolf on his fathers chest.

"I was going to tell you. It's only been three days."

"Did you put him back in a cell?"

"Gods no. Father I..." Robb felt himself flushing hotly and cursed it.

"I kept him in my chambers. He wanted to sleep out with the dogs. Anything else seemed inconceivably cruel." He finished lamely.  
"So you did not order him to the dungeons."

Robb was confused.  
"No. I took him out and kept him safe with me. He.. father he needs me. He's not alright, he-"

Ned interrupted. "Then why did I receive that concerned visit from Pybald, asking after Greyjoy's health? He seemed to be distressed that the young ward had been placed back in the dungeons."

"I don't know what he's talking about."

"Neither did I, as you well know. But he said he saw the boy being taken there late this afternoon while you and I were in the great hall." Ned saw Robb's eyes flash, watched him stand abruptly and almost knock his chair to the floor.

"Robb." He said, voice only slightly raised.

"When you find him, bring him back somewhere safe. Then come and see me."

Robb was already out the door, calling after the guards.

"Grey Wind! To me!" The direwolf caught up to him in three easy strides, trotting beside him as if he knew exactly where they were going, which, Robb thought, he might.

Three of his men were on his heel momentarily, armor clattering together and boots striking the cold cold stone noisily. Robb wore no armor, and his soft soled boots were almost silent, but he headed the pack, rounding a dark corner and flying down a set of stairs, almost knocking a startled maid to the ground. She squeaked and flattened herself against the wall as the direwolf and the men stampeded past.

"Where is he?" Robb demanded of the two men guarding the entrance to the dungeon. They looked sleepy, startled to see a breathless Robb Stark and a very large direwolf at their post.

"M'lord? Which one?" One stammered.

"Reek. One of the few we took out of here not quarter of a fortnight ago."

Robb was angry, stunned at the blank looks on their faces.

"Who was brought here against their will and without my permission this day!"

The guards looked at eachother with raised eyebrows.

"None that we know of, m'lord. We are the night post, we got here round sundown and no one's-" Robb pushed past them.

"Light. Get me light."

They wound down the first layer of cells, peering in every one. Robb resisted the urge to call out to Reek. He did not want any of his men knowing the extent of how much he wanted to find this boy. Who had brought him to the dungeon? He would not have gone willingly. He didn't think Eddard would have commanded something like that to spite him for lying. No, he knew his lord father would not do that. Someone else's father might, but not his. That wasn't his way of doing things. He wouldn't harm another person just to prove a point. Especially not someone as valuable as a ward from the Iron Islands.

Who had done this? Could someone still loyal to Ramsay or Roose have discovered where Reek had been staying? Did they think they would get away with this treasonous nonsense? Robb would see to it that they did not, and he fully intended one more head to roll as soon as the raven came from King's Landing about the Boltons.

He heard the sound of Ramsay Bolton's laughter before he saw him.

Still impotent in his cell, hair lank and dirty, but fed, given water (more than he deserved, in Robb's opinion, he never afforded those comforts to his own prisoners)

His laughter was a dark, quiet thing, a pregnant chuckle that sent a chill up Robb's spine. When his men caught up to him and light flooded the cell, he could see that the bastard was in the middle of the floor squatting behind Reek with one arm around his shoulders and the other pressing a small blade to his throat. Robb's stomach dropped, his mouth became bone dry. When Reek saw him, he whimpered and twitched in Ramsay's iron grip.

"How did he get in there with you?" Robb managed.

"How did I obtain my little Reek? Reek is a good bitch, as I'm sure you've since discovered, Stark. He came on his own. Well... Once I got him into the dungeons I mean."

The door had to have been open... Why didn't Ramsay attempt escape at that moment? Had too many of his own men been around? He had the dungeon heavily guarded at all times due to the important nature of it's current occupants. Reek could not have gotten in to that cell without at least two of his men seeing it.

Robb saw blood on the floor in smears and small puddles, and realized that Ramsay had been flaying Reek. Reek now favored his hand, the one with the still-healing finger, and Robb could not see the extent of the damage in the dim light through all the blood.

"Listen to me, Bastard."

Ramsay snorted.

"I do not have time for your games. You will drop the knife, and you will release him."

"Will I? Or what, Stark? Tell me, when did you lot ever win anything on your own? It was the Boltons that helped you sorry pack of hyenas for a millennium. Your prisoners don't even fear you. Your enemies don't either. It was fear of the Boltons that built the North. You lot are riding our coattails." He sneered, pressing the blade into Reek's flesh and making him hiss.

Grey Wind growled from behind him, and Robb thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty pass over the bastard's thick brow, his icy eyes momentarily losing their malice. He regained himself quickly.

"You are not our enemy any more. You are nothing now. And on the morrow, when your head rolls in your own yard, you will be a memory not worth committing to song."

Robb stepped closer to the bars, and whether his hands were shaking from fear or anger he could not tell.

"You do not need to fear House Stark." He whispered so low that his guards might not have heard.

"You only need to fear me."

His face must have shown something then, something of Eddard Starks sincerity that could be read like words in a page. He thought he could feel the rage plain on his face too, and something in that combination made a look of true fear pass over Ramsay's face finally.

"Let him go.

"What if I slit his throat?" The bastard sneered, revealing a set of sharp yellowed eyeteeth

"Then I will strip the skin off you piece by piece like you did to those girls until you scream for death, and let my wolf rip you to bits after, before you can die of shock."

His men heard that, and he could feel them shifting their weight, looking at eachother. They had never heard Eddard Stark say anything of that nature. But Robb was beyond livid, and he was not Eddard Stark.

He called for the master key, unlocked the door slowly. Ramsay's eyes flickered past the guards to the door, trying to surmise if he could ever reach it and escape.

Robb held his hands up, moving slowly lest Ramsay's knife-hand twitch and slit Reek's throat. Reek was holding very still, eyes always on Robb, even when Grey Wind stepped into the cell, fur bristling, teeth bared.

"Drop the knife." He repeated.

"One more step and I'll do it." Ramsay laughed, though Robb could hear the uncertainty in it.

"You'll do nothing but drop the knife and let him go, or Grey Wind will rip your arm off before your knife leaves his neck."

Grey Wind's huge body looked even larger in the small cell, the light from the torches casting a huge shadow on the floor and wall, making him look impossibly large.

Ramsay faltered for but a moment, let his guard down, and Reek ducked under his arm, dove away, toward the snarling wolf. He kicked and backpedaled father from Ramsay until he was behind Grey Wind, shielding himself with the wolf's thick front leg, burying his nose in his fur covered muscle to peer at Ramsay, who kneeled on the cell staring at the knife in his hands. There was blood on it, and him, and all around. It was smeared on Reek, too, and Reeks good hand left a bloody print on Robb's wolf.

"My lord?" One of the guards asked Robb haltingly.

"Leave him. I want twice as many men on these dungeons as we have now. Double the watch. Do not let anything like this happen again or there will be consequences. No further action until I find out who is responsible for this."

Ramsay was muttering to himself, not even listening to Robb, stroking the knife with the pad of his fingers, his greasy black hair covering his face. Robb resisted the urge to spit on the ground in front of him and turned his heel instead, muttering to Grey Wind to cease his growling threats.

He turned to Reek, bid him stand. He did, holding his wounded hand to his chest

He ushered them out of the dungeons, walking quickly, head down. He would find out who was responsible for this. Ramsay might never tell him, but Reek would.

"Tell my lord father I have the one in question, and will speak with him on the morrow. Deliver me hot water and towels, and wrappings." Robb grumbled to the guards dismissively.

Once he shut the door to his chambers, it was just he and Reek and Grey Wind.

He wanted to ask so many things, he wanted to kick over a chair and pace the room, he wanted to strangle Ramsay Bolton. When he saw Reeks bloodied hands and pale, terrified face, he stopped completely.

"Sit on the bed. Sit." He steered Reek to the edge of the bed, kneeled in front of him.

"Let me see."

Reek choked on sobs as he untangled his hands and let Robb look. He held him gently by the wrists, and felt nausea building in his gut as he surveyed the damage. The still new skin on the wounded finger had been flayed completely off, skin and muscle, revealing the lean meat and ligaments beneath, and through the center he could spy bright white bone, garish and oddly clean of blood.

"Gods..." He whispered, looking from the mangled finger to Reek's face. He was crying.

"What happened?"  
"They told me... " Reek took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

"They told me you had called for me, that they were taking me to you. They took me to the dungeons instead. Once I realized I.. I tried to get away. I didn't know why you would want me to go to down there... I thought I had.. I had done something wrong."

As If Robb would send him to the dungeons for that.

"But it was him. He told me to get in. And I did. I had to. I have to do what he says. He can open that cell whenever he wants, master, he has a key, he can.. " Reek choked and hiccuped.

"He knows those dungeons better than anyone. He just can't get past all the.. the men.. not yet. But he will, oh Gods, he will. He will find a way and he will find me."

Robb wanted to tell him that he couldn't that he had doubled the guard on the dungeons, but he had already promised Reek that Ramsay wouldn't hurt him ever again, and look what happened.

A knock on the door startled them both. Robb moved to answer it, taking the bucket of water and the rags and a soft folded cloth bag of supplies from the two wide-eyed girls who had brought them.

"Get me one of my men. Get me Barty, the big one with the red beard."

The girl nodded and Robb shut the door.

"Reek..." he started, going back to the boy on the bed.

"Do you know the man who took you?"  
He shook his head. "It wasn't. It was two serving girls."

"Who?" Robb asked, but Reek shut his eyes, obviously in too much pain to concentrate. Now was not the time.

"We need to get you to the maester. I didn't realize how bad this was." He nodded toward Reek's bright red mess of a finger.

"No." Reed pleaded, suddenly afraid.

"I don't want that. I don't want it."

"What then? What am I supposed to do?"

Reek's face twisted into a grimace, he was holding his wrist with his good hand like with a grip on it he could control the pain he was feeling.

"Please, cut it off. It will fester, it won't grow back it's too deep. Please, cut if off. "

Robb didn't want to hear what he was hearing. He remembered how Ramsay used to make him beg for it, when the wound turned black and began to rot

"I... Let me take you to the maester, he can.. he can do it, I'll-"

"I dont' want him to do it. I want you to do it." Reek whispered, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.

"I trust you. Please."

Robb glanced again at the butchered finger. He didn't need the maester to tell him the finger couldn't be saved. Robb took a deep breath, pulled his knife from his boot. It was sharp, thin. He wished it was heavier, but he knew the sharpness of the blade would allow him to cut through a finger bone almost with ease.  
He turned away from Reek, held the blade in the fireplace until it burned hot, removed it.

"This will keep you from infection." Robb said softly, careful not to touch the blade after.

"How do... how do we do this?" He asked. Reek stood shakily, making his way to the small writing desk near where Grey Wind lay watching them.

He set his hand on the flat surface, gasping when the bare muscle and bone touched the wood.

Robb followed him, holding the knife at arms legnth like a snake that might bight them both.

He removed his belt with one hand, held it next to Reek's mouth.

"Bite." He said, and Reek opened his mouth, let Robb slide the leather strap in between his teeth.

"Sit." Robb pulled the chair up under Reek, who sat, arm flat on the table, biting Robb's belt, tears flowing freely.

Robb positioned himself to Reek's right, posed the blade over the last knuckle of the bloody pulp of a finger.

"Are you sure you want this." He said flatly, trying to still his own hands from shaking as badly as the other boys.

A knock at the door interrupted. He cursed. It was Barty, answering his call, in full armor, red beard coming to a point on his chest.

"My Lord." He said when Robb answered the door.

"The Bastard has a key on him or in that cell somewhere. He had that knife too, he might have more. Find these things, strip him if you have to, dig up the floor, I don't care. I want him unarmed and keyless."

Barty nodded, and if he saw the scene in the room behind Robb he gave no indication. Robb closed the door again, realized his legs left like they were made of jam.

"Please. Cut if off." Reek managed through the belt

He thought of his father's blade, Ice, the way it hacked through a man's neck and spinal cord in one blow, a clean break.

"You know I don't want to do this, don't you?"  
Reek didn't answer, perhaps he didn't hear, stayed braced for the blade.

He did it with all the strength in his upper body, hard and fast and deliberately. Grey Wind jumped to his feet, and Reek screamed, wavered, lost consciousness.

When he came to, Robb had him propped up among the pillows, his hand cleaned and bandaged. Reek moaned, his eyes slowly coming in to focus.

"Shh, it's alright. You're here with me." He soothed, brushing the other boy's hair back from his forehead.

"Master?"

"It's Robb, remember?"

He saw Reek smile. Weakly, but for true for the first time and he felt elation sweep through his tired body.

"Robb."

"Are you in pain? Here. Drink this."

Robb helped him with the milk of the poppy he had called for, and dabbed at the bit that ran from a corner of his mouth.

"This will made you sleep, and help the pain. You're safe here and I'm not going to leave you." He promised.

Reek nodded gratefully.

"Thank you. I.. I'm sorry."

"For what? It is all my fault. I promised he wouldn't hurt you. It's I who will be asking your forgiveness."

"Not your.. I went with them.. he.. he knows.." Reek was sounding confused. The drug was lacing through his bloodstream, pulling him to sleep.

" I can't.. he-"

"Shh." Robb hushed him, carding his fingers through the brittle hair.

"Just sleep now. I've got you."

Robb himself could not sleep all night, not if he tried.

* * *

I'm sorry if this is as riddled with typos as I think it is, I read it over quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

weigh anchor, slashy waters ahead (mild very mild for now though)

* * *

Robb sat with his father, glad of the morning's heavy rain and the way the light that streamed through the small window was grey and weak. He had not slept at all, but paced the room, kept watch over a restlessly sleeping Reek, washed his hands and his blade. He gathered the strip of bone and sinew that was the other boy's finger in a bloodied towel, threw it all into the fire.

Eddard Stark took tea when he broke his fast, and though Robb could not think of touching his own plate of pale, runny eggs and chunk of ale-bread, he took a cup himself and felt the hot herb water warm his insides. He would get a cup for Reek later, when he awoke, he mused. He hoped he had returned by then. He did not wish for Reek to wake up alone in the large bed, hand throbbing, fire burned down to coals in the hearth.

"You have not been able to determine who was responsible for that stunt yesterday?"

"The guards were either asleep at their post or lying to me, which would be worse, and Re-_Theon_ has only told me that it was two serving girls who told him they were taking him to me."

Eddard sighed, rubbed a large, weathered hand across his eyes.

"Greyjoy did not give you their physical description?"

"It was not an easy night. I had to remove a finger that the Bastard", Robb spat the word, "the Bastard had flayed beyond recognition or recovery. I gave him milk of the poppy and he is sleeping."

"You didn't call a maester for that?"

Robb shook his head, waved his hand to indicate it was a longer story than he wished to tell.

"If we return him to the Iron Islands, it would be a gesture of good will toward Balon Greyjoy. I think that is in our best interest."

Robb took another sip of his tea, let his anger wash over him. He took a breath before answering.  
"Father. He is not the son Roose Bolton took from Pyke ten years ago. We would be sending Balon a.. a frightened starveling, missing four fingers and almost as many toes, with hair gone grey before he has turned ten and seven. How is that a gesture of good will? With all due respect, you misunderstand the situation."

Eddard raised his brows only slightly. He was being indulgent, Robb knew. Under his anger at the situation, which stemmed from his sudden and violent attachment to the ward, he was grateful that his father was an understanding man, that he loved Robb enough to even have this conversation.  
"Please know that I have our best interest at heart. Yours, mine, mothers. Arya and Sansa and Bran and Rickon. Winterfell. The entire North. I know you are wiser than I, and that I must seem rash to you, but please listen to me when I say he is not ready He..." Robb trailed off, frustrated at his loss for words. Grey Wind sat up, pressing his wet muzzle into Robb's hand. Robb stroked the direwolf's ears gratefully.

"I need to see him." Eddard said finally.

Robb nodded.

"Thank you. I... I will talk to him when he wakes."

Robb stood, unable to sit at the table anymore. The room felt stifling.

"And Robb?"

His father held aloft a parchment, curled at the bottom from where it had been rolled. Robb took it, recognizing the signature at the bottom before he got to the actual text.

"When do we do it?"

"Dawn, tomorrow."

Robb felt tingly, like he was caught out in an electrical storm.

"Father. I want to do it."

Ned looked up at his son from his place at the table. There was no surprise in his grey eyes.

"I want to execute Ramsay myself.

"What of Roose?"

"It's... it is of no import to me by whose hand Roose Bolton dies."

"This can't be personal. If you want to swing the sword for Ramsay but not Roose, it is a personal vendetta. It's just revenge."

Robb placed the letter back on the table. He clucked his tongue softly to Grey Wind, and strode out.

Reek looked pale. Robb brought him herb tea, and some hot broth. When Reek tried to take it himself Robb gently pushed his good hand away, lifted the spoon and the cup to his lips for him instead. Reek blushed but let him.

"Do you remember what those girls looked like?" He kept his tone gentle.

"One.. one was fair haired, the other dark. Brown, not black. They were both slender. Of a similar height. Their hands were cold, but they.. they smiled at me. They spoke so kindly to me. Like..like you do to me. They told me they were taking me to see you. I shouldn't have believed them. I should have known it was a trick."

"Did they have any.. distinguishing features?" He pressed.

Reek looked like he was trying to remember, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I... one of them had a burn on her wrist. The dark haired one."

"Perhaps from the kitchens..." Robb thought aloud. Would he have to question every serving girl in the Dreadfort who didn't have red or black hair? check their wrists, maybe, that could narrow it down. If he could find one, maybe she would turn over the other out of fright. Ramsay Bolton had his claws in deep, he realized, if he got two maids to do his bidding from a cell. They would discover the folly of playing for the losing side... Robb didn't know what kind of punishment to inflict on two young maids, but he could not have that kind of blatant sabotage happening under his nose, be it by grown men or young girls.

"My father wants to meet you." He said softly to the other boy.

Reek looked only slightly uncomfortable. The bags under his eyes looked blue in the grey light of the day, and Robb pulled the furs up around his waist for him, trying to keep out the damp chill of the Dreadfort. He supposed Reek knew of it better than he did, spending most of his time outside with the hounds or thrown in a room or cell in just his rags.

"Your father is... is Eddard Stark?"

"He found out about you. I didn't tell him. I wasn't ready to tell him.. I should have but.."

Robb did not know why he found himself talking of such personal matters so freely to the other boy, but it came naturally. Their trust was mutual, he was finding.

"I wanted to keep you all to myself." He confessed, delighting in the way Reek ducked his chin, smirked his crooked smirk.

"I would like that." He whispered.

"Would you?" Robb asked, wondering exactly what was being implied in that statement.

"Yes. I.. I think I'm afraid of meeting your father. I dont.. Lords frighten me."

_You're a Lord,_ he almost said.

"I"m a Lord." He said instead and grinned, and Reek made his heart race when he rolled his eyes. He had never seen him do anything even remotely in jest or sarcasm and now he was rolling his eyes at him. Then his face was suddenly serious.

"You're_ my_ Lord, though."

Robb felt hyper aware of himself, of the way he sat on the bed, leaning towards the other boy, of how his finger twitched involuntarily, of how his breath warmed his lips. Reek's eyes had gone soft, and they had something strange and new in them, a light but a timid one, a fox caught out in an open field.

Before he knew what he was doing Robb was leaning forward, pressing their lips together. Reek gasped slightly, but did not pull away,leaned into Robb's kiss. Robb pulled away as quickly as he had leaned in, afraid of what he might have done. He stared at his hands, at the furs on the bed.

"I...I don't mean to startle you-"

Reek was touching his lips with two fingers.

"That was nice." He whispered. "I've.. I've never done that."

Robs head snapped back up. _But you and Ramsay..Ramsay made you..do things_. He didn't want to voice that aloud, it would spoil what had just transpired between them. Reek seemed to guess, though, and huffed softly.

"It was never so nice as that. He would...he would just bite."

Robbs breathing was still elevated as Reek continued.

"Is that like... like men do with girls? I've seen them do it..."

"It's like that between whoever wants to do it." Robb said, his voice almost wavering.

"It's nice." Reek said again. "You want to...to do it with _me,_ though?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Oh, I do. I just.. don't know why you want to with... with me...I'm..."

"Perfect." Robb finished for him. Reek looked at him with something akin to adoration.

"Can I do it again?" Robb asked, and Reek's eyes widened. He nodded, and Robb leaned in, slower this time, reaching up to cup the other boy's face with his hand. He kissed him slowly, softly, then began placing small freckles of kisses on the corners of his mouth, on the edge of his swollen bottom lip, before pulling away. Reek's pupils were dilated, his breath coming faster now too. Robb stroked his thumb along his cheekbone.

"That's how it's supposed to feel." Reek said incredulously.

"It's not supposed to hurt." Robb confirmed.

Reek lay back against his pillows and Robb worked on composing himself, not wanting Reek to discover the way he had started to strain against his laces in his breeches. That was too much, too fast, he knew. He would not dare push more than a kiss. He didn't know until now he wanted anything more than a kiss. The kiss had been a surprise.

"Why does your father.. Lord Stark.. wish to see me?" He asked after a moment.

"He thinks to send you to Pyke, back to your family. I told him no. I told him you weren't in any condition."

The dazed, heady look he had worn since the kiss wore off now, and he looked troubled, a bit afraid.

"I don't.. I can't go there."

At least he wasn't denying that he was from there.

"I'm not him."

"I know." Robb said softly.

"I do not think that once my father sees the things that the Bolton's put you through he will make you do anything against your will, at least not for some time. He just needs to see you to know that you're better off with me."

Reek nodded his agreement.

"I want to stay with you. I can be your.. your servant. I can be useful, as soon as..." He looked at his heavily bandaged hand.

"You don't need to be useful to me for me to want to keep you near." Robb murmured.

"And you're not a servant. You're a ward. A highborn one. You don't have to say it if you don't want to, but you were Theon Greyjoy before you were Reek, and you still are Theon Greyjoy no matter what the Boltons did to you."

Reek's lower lip trembled, and Robb took the liberty of kissing to steady it, light as a ghost. Reek's arms went around Robbs neck and Robb moved up beside him, pulled them both down to lay against the pillows so they faced eachother.

"I want to swear to you." Reek whispered. "For... for what it's worth. I want to swear my life and allegiance to you, make you my Lord for true."

"Then you must do it as Theon. It's his allegiance I desire."

"My name is Reek." He whimpered.

"Theon. Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands." Robb corrected gently. Reek winced.

"_Freak, sneak, shriek._.." Robb kissed him quiet.

"Theon." He whispered against the other boy's lips. "Tomorrow at dawn the Bolton's blood will spill in the yard beneath this window." He paused to kiss the corners of Reek's pouting, soft mouth.

"You are Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, and I am Robb Stark of Winterfell. I promise you here and now not only by the sigil of my house but by the very blood in my veins- that so long as I draw breath you will never be alone or friendless. I swear this to Theon Greyjoy...Who swears it to me?"

The other boy was silent for a moment, and only the heavy rains on the window made any noise enough to hear.

"I swear to you, Robb Stark. My name..." He swallowed. "I swear to you. My name... is Theon Greyjoy, and I swear to you."

In their next kiss, Robb could both taste the salt of tears and feel Theon's smile against his lips.

In the end, Robb had told Theon that he would not make him meet his father. Theon had agreed that he would, however, and Robb suspected it was mostly to make Robb happy than anything else

"What do you want me to tell him?" Theon asked nervously as they wound the corridors to the solar in which Eddard Stark had arranged them to meet. He did not see the need to make it a formal type of meeting, receiving him in the great hall or council room. Robb agreed, thinking the solar would be smaller, more comfortable. Grey Wind followed behind them, huge paws making a soft noise on the stone.

"I don't care what you tell him." Robb said honestly. "Just tell him the truth, and as much as you can. Whatever he asks you." He paused to grip Theon's angular shoulders, turning them to face eachother.

"My father is a good man. He has the interest of our house and the north at heart, yes, but he is kind. He has a reputation for honor. He will not hurt you." Robb promised, pulling Theon on again. He thought he might stay with them, be there to support Theon if he got afraid, but when he opened the door to let them in, his lord father thanked him and dismissed him.

Robb and Theon shared a look, and Robb nodded to his father, calling softly to Grey Wind before backing out and closing the door behind him.  
Unsure of what to do, he paced the hallway, eyeing the dark corners and the lofty rafters, pausing to lean against a stone wall before growing restless and pacing again. He was tired, but still he had not slept. He would, he thought, before tomorrow dawn.

Tomorrow dawn was when the thing that had been gnawing at him since their successful siege. The Boltons still drew breath, down in the bowels of th castle like some sleeping dragon. He wanted them dead. Roose, for what he had done to their House, to the North. Ramsay, for what he had done to those girls. To Theon.

Theon. What was he doing with Theon? He could not deny his strange attraction to the other boy, his fierce sense of protectiveness. He'd never felt that tender toward any living creature either, not a girl, not anyone. Robb laced his hands behind his back and measured his steps, counting them in his head without meaning to.

He wanted Theon to meet Jon. And Sansa and Arya, Bran and Rickon too. Rickon was little, might ask things like 'where are the rest of your fingers?' as children are wont to do. Sansa would mother him, though, probably sew him a cloak to keep him warm. Arya would narrow her eyes appraisingly, unsure. She'd test him out by flinging winter peas at him in the hall, no doubt. Robb wanted to show Theon the godswood, the greenhouse, and his expansive, comfortable bed. How he could get away with that last bit he was not sure...

He had kissed him, too. Kissed him more than once, longer than he had any right to. A kiss that men shared with women. He knew that was not the reality of it, and like he'd told Theon, a kiss could be shared between whomever. Still he had never really wanted to kiss another who was not a girl before. People would scoff, he thought. He saw how others might see Theon. Starved, missing fingers, hair brittle and greyish, bruised and timid. A kicked pet, used and ruined by Ramsay Bolton.

That's not what Robb saw. Though he wished him whole, he found the missing fingers oddly endearing. He wanted to kiss the spaces between where they used to be. He found Reek's slender frame fascinating. Though he fed him to give him back his strength, his current angular, bony hollows were a testament to his strength on their own, lending him a fragility that Robb wanted to run his fingers over, like frosted glass.

His eyes may have been rimmed in dark circles, but they were the most honest that he had ever seen. He wanted to kiss his brows, his neck, feel his soft thudding heartbeat under his lips as he moved to his throat...

Gods. Gods. Robb unlaced his hands, rubbed his eyes. What was his father asking Theon in there? Finally the door opened, and his father waved him in. Theon was sitting in a comfortable chair that was altogether too big for him. Robb thought that though he was holding himself a little stiffly, and held his bandaged hand to his chest, he looked alright.

"Thank you, Robb." Ned said, as calm as always. "Now I would like a word with you, if you don't mind, we can get Theon escorted back to.. his chambers." _Your chambers_, he had almost said, but not wanted to voice. Theon looked to him. He was nervous to be with anyone but Robb after what has happened. Gods, was it only yesterday?

Robb leaned close to Theon's ear to whisper, "Take Grey Wind. As long as you've got him, it's like you've got me."

Theon nodded, and Ned summoned two of his men who came to collect Theon. Grey Wind seemed to understand he was going with Theon, as he always understood everything intuitively, often before Robb himself did. Theon gripped Grey Wind's thick fur in a fist and walked close to the direwolf, out of the solar flanked by two direwolf-sigiled men.

"What did you say to him?"

"I just told him to take Grey Wind." Robb shrugged, feigning casualty.

"You were right." Ned said, taking a seat again.

"I was?" Robb asked cautiously.

"We can't send that boy to the Iron Islands. Balon Greyjoy would destroy what is left of him."

_There's a lot left of him,_ Robb thought defensively.

"And you're concerned for his welfare? Not just as a peace offering to Balon Greyjoy, but really concerned for him?"

"You brought him to me because you know he elicits that response. It was borderline manipulative to let me see him."

Robb grinned.

"We can't keep him a secret forever. We can't call him _Reek_."

"No. But no one knows he even lives as of right now, save a few. Two of whom will be dead on the morrow. His existence will go unnoticed for some time yet. I'm leaving that amount of time up to you. I am, essentially, entrusting you with his care entirely."

Robb had hoped for this.

"I just hope I do not regret it."

Robb told him he wouldn't.

He wound his way back up to his chambers, found Theon curled around Grey Wind on the floor, sleeping.

"Mind if I borrow that Ironborn?" Robb asked the wolf, who regarded him sleepily and did not object when Robb roused Theon.

"What did I tell you about sleeping out in the cold with dogs?" He teased, helping the other boy to his feet and bringing him to the bed. Half awake, Theon crawled in and Robb followed, shrugging off his tunic and kicking off his boots and leaving them in a pile on the floor.

He covered them both warmly, careful not to jostle Theon's wrapped hand. Underneath the cover of the furs, Theon muttered incoherently and snuggled close to him. Robb pressed their bodies together, feeling curiously safe himself now that he had someone to shield and protect.  
In the darkening room, with the rain still falling heavily outside, Robb felt like every pair of prying eyes in the castle, his fathers included, were off them. He could kiss Theon's hairline and feel him squirm even closer against his chest. His feet throbbed now that he was off them, but the relief was not unpleasant, and he felt sleep pulling at his eyelids, the white edges of a dream already descending upon him as he drifted down into the darkness.

The morning dawned bright and clear. There was a crispness in the air, giving it a slight bite, and the sky was the washed blue that can only be seen around the harvest moon or after a heavy rain. The eath was still soaked, and the yard was a mud pit fit for a pig sty. Robb had been roused by Theon, feeling like he had died instead of just slept. He groaned, and struggled to open his eyes. Theon was leaning over him, cautiously prodding him with his forefinger.  
"There's a guard at the door. He says your father is calling for you."

Robb groaned, rolled out of bed to dress.

"Do you want to come?" Robb asked.

"What... what's happening?"

"The beheading of both Boltons." Robb grumbled, hopping on one foot as he pulled on a boot.

Theon's face darkened.

"I.. I don't know if..."

Robb knew he would want to console Theon, to keep him close, keep a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't do that in front of Stark men. In front of his father.  
"You can watch from the window if you want." He offered instead. Theon shook his head

"No. I want to see him die."

He had no doubt which Bolton he was referring to.

Robb expected more formalities. Everyone gathered in the bright morning, the sun just cresting the horizon, the dew still on the grass, the yard still partially in shadow from the tall buildings it centered.

Eddard Stark listed the Bolton's treason, their crimes of war. His voice rang out steady and even, and even Robb stood a little taller, cast his eyes downward in a show of respect for Lord Stark.

He read aloud King Robert's line of consent from the letter, folded it and put it back in his pocket. Birds chirped in the nearby trees. A horse's shrill whinny carried across the yard from the stables.

Robb kept an eye on Theon, who was not far off to his right, standing close to a wagon stacked with hay, toward the back of the circle of onlookers. His eyes were on Ramsay, who knelt five feet away from his father, head placed on a chopping block the same as Roose's. His hands and feet were not bound, Robb noticed. It was though they were supposed to submit to dying. To admit their rule was a false one, and they were willing to be slain in their own yard, ending the Bolton line then and there that very morning.

Robb focused back in on his father, who was still speaking.

"... and warden of the North, sentence you to die." Someone handed him Ice. He drew it from the scabbard, and it caught a ray of morning sun, gleamed like a wolf's tooth.

Eddard wasted no time in swinging. The cut was clean, and Roose Bolton's head was no longer on his body. Robb looked to Theon, whose expression had not changed in the least. He was gritting his teeth, and his eyes were, by all appearances, calm.

What Robb did not expect was to be called forward. He, too was presented a sword. His hands did not shake as he took it. The scraping sound it made as it left it's sheath he felt more than heard, and it rang in his bones as he approached Ramsay Bolton, who was sneering, colorless eyes wide in their sockets, the blood of his father pooling in the mud and the horseshit to his left.

"So the wolf pup's come to kill me." He hissed.

"Are those your last words?" Robb hissed back, feeling the eyes all around him trained on he and Ramsay.

"You'll never have him." Ramsay said, too low for any onlookers to hear. Robb glanced to his right, at his father, who was regarding him solemnly.

"You can coddle him and dress him like a lord, but he'll be my Reek till his last breath."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But this is yours, so take it deeply." Robb said, and with all his might, he swung.

Though Ramsay Bolton did not probably deserve it, it was a clean cut. The sword was well forged, sharp, and huge, and Robb had enough upper body strength and anger behind his blow to sever the Bastard's spinal column, crush the back of his skull, and sweep clean through his neck and as his blow landed, a murder of crows took flight from the wall they had been perched on, cawing and shrieking into the frosty morning air. He realized after a few moments had passed that he'd been holding his breath. When he turned, it was not to his father, but to Theon.

Robb nodded at Theon, and Theon nodded back. A smile that may have been more of a grimace tugged at his lips.  
Robb's stomach rumbled. He had just killed a man, and all he could think of was that he wanted nothing more than to break his fast. Heartily, and soon.


End file.
